Saturday, October 16, 2004


Silent night, holy night
and I open my thin curtains and expect
to see snow; white and piled high on grey tree branches
and so detailed that if I reach out to catch a frozen
white crystal on my warm fleshy
finger I couldn't begin to draw the sharp
complex edges before it melts into a little puddle
on my finger.

Do you hear what I hear
and I want to open my window
and rest my elbows on the cracked vinyl
sticking my head out the window so I can see the frozen breath
pour out of my mouth and red nose and taste
the woodstove smoke in the air. The quiet tinkling
of the snow landing, like soft raindrops on crystal
will form a melody with the icy wind
that sneaks around the corners.

Good King Wenceslas looked out
and I see the rain snaking
down the window, dis-
torting my view of muddy
grass and the weatherman
says a balmy
sixteen degress

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